out him. His face had lost its ruddy tint. His eyes stared, his
mouth twitched, and his lips were of the colour of lead. The swaggering
jocundity of his manner had all gone. The very stature of the man seemed
changed, and the square width of his shoulders was shrunk and rounded.
He moistened his leaden lips three times with his tongue, and each time
tried to speak in vain.

'Come in,' he said at last, in a harsh and rasping voice. And they all
moved automatically into the parlour, he leading them.

They grouped there at the end of the centre table, and the instinct
of the trembling housewife so far awoke within her that she closed the
door, lest the servants and hangers-on about the house should hear what
she knew was coming.

James Jervoyce, a mean-statured man, of meaner feature, with his hair
plastered about his forehead by the rain, and the water dripping from
his cape, stood as the centre of all eyes. His face was of the hue of
grey paper, and he gasped for breath, and trembled.

'Pol,' said John Jervase, waving his right hand blindly, 'give me--give
me the decanter and a tumbler.'

Both lay near at hand, and Jervase, having primed himself with a great
gulp of neat brandy, spoke again.

'Now, James,' he asked, 'what's the matter? What do you mean by coming
here to scare a peaceful house in this wild fashion?'

The accent was the accent of his youth, the broadest speech of the
Castle Barfield region. James seemed incapable of answer, and his
cousin, laying a hand anew upon the decanter, filled the glass almost to
the brim, and held it out to him.

'Get a heart into you,' he said gruffly, 'and speak out!'

The timider of the guilty pair drank unwarily, not knowing what was
offered to him, and fell into a fit of coughing. The rest awaited him in
a tense expectation. At last he controlled himself, and spoke, sipping
from time to time to moisten his dry lips.

'You know,' he said, glancing at the floor and at the faces round him
alternately, 'you know that when old General Airey died, that young cub
De Blacquaire came into the Droitwich property.'

'Well,' said John Jervase, 'we know that. Go on. What about it?'

'You know,' said James, 'that his property and ours neighboured each
other. The young skunk has trumped up a charge against us of having
tapped his brine, and having lived on the property of his estate for
twenty years past.'

'Well,' said--John Jervase, 'that's a pretty cool piece of impudence,